Outside the Box
by Sandra Athrenael
Summary: Summary: Two teenage girls living on the complete opposites of town both love the same guy, but lust after another, who also happens to be the same for both of them, although neither knows it. PG-13 for language and some mature-ish content.
1. Chapter 1

**Outside the Box**

**Summary: Two teenage girls living on the complete opposites of town both love the same guy, but lust after another, who also happens to be the same for both of them, although neither knows it. R for language and some mature-ish content.**

* * *

**7:45 AM**

**East Side**

"Get out of bed you little shit!"

At first the voice was far away, as if I was still dreaming. It got louder with every syllable though, eventually growing to such a shriek that it forced one of my eyes open.

"Says who?" I grumbled, turning over and shoving my pillow over my head.

"Says the president of the United States, smartass. Now get up." I lifted my head up and rubbed my eyes. My brother Danny was standing over me, cracking his knuckles. I flipped him the bird and eased myself to a sitting position, bunching the blankets up around me.

"Get out of my room douche bag, I'm naked." I said without enthusiasm. I wasn't really naked; but what the hell, whatever works. He backed out slowly, slamming the door after him.

After a minute or two or sitting, I got up and heaved a short sigh. My room was as boring as ever, with its peeling gray walls and lack of furniture. It didn't matter much cuz I was barely ever home, but it still got to me. We aint rich, living on the East side and all, so normal stuff like furniture and paint was hard to come by.

I am the epitome of the East side girls that you probably hear about, but most of the time I don't think of myself that way. There's three ways people see me usually:

1) Dangerous alley trash that walks. The whole deal with fishnets, leather, hair spray, and the expected assortment of guys.

2) An underprivileged minor that should be looked upon with pity, not contempt, and that Jesus may actually come and save me one day.

3) A glass bottle. The kind that's smooth and flawless on the outside, but has a stash full of secret notes inside, and once there are too many, the glass cracks.

That last one is my opinion, but usually the first two are what everyone else thinks about me. I know you must be thinking that that third one is too deep for an East Side chick, but I'm not as stupid as everyone thinks. I mean, sure I may sleep around, but that doesn't mean I'm some kind of teenage lobotomy!

I looked in the mirror hanging on my wall, the only thing I liked it the whole room. The only other things in it are a closet and a mattress, so I liked the mirror the best. I'm not conceited or whatever you call it, I just like to look in it and pretend I'm somewhere else, like there really is a world on the other side, like in those books.

I slipped into some ripped up fishnets, a tight faded denim skirt and a black shirt that exposed most of my stomach. I threw on my leather jacket and grabbed my hair spray can. When I get really into it, I can use a whole can of that stuff in one day. I leaned forward so my hair fell over my face and sprayed the back, crunching the hair between my fingers to make it wavy. When you get to be my age, you know exactly how to do everything a certain way so it comes out right. It sad that that's the only thing I can be proud of, but whatever. At least I have something.

I'm 17 right now, by the way, and your average horny, angsty, awkward teenager. I go to school almost every day, which is pointless really, and I work part time as a jockey for the Slash J.

Now I'm your stereotypical greasy girl, but my brother is anything but. He hangs out with every Soc and middle classer he can catch walking down the school hallway. The only problem with us is that we're broke, so he can't be a Soc no matter how hard he tries. Our parents aint nothing special either. They drink a lot and love to go on road trips, so me and Danny gotta fend for ourselves most of the time.

Today I decided I wasn't going to school, so I snuck out of my window and climbed carefully down the drain pipe. When my worn out cowboy boots hit the ground, I dusted myself off and began walking. I'd probably make my way over to the DX later and say hi to Sodapop Curtis. I only know him cuz he's my friend Sandy's guy, and he's drop dead gorgeous. I would've done him so many times already if it hadn't been for the fact that him and Sandy are going steady.

I pulled out a cigarette and lit it quickly, shoving the lighter back into my pocket before anyone had time to even see the flame. I took a long drag before dropping it and grinding it into the asphalt with my pointed heel. By the time school was supposed to start I was already walking into a drug store, whistling some tune I'd heard on the radio. The owner gave me the usual look, then turned back to his work, or whatever the hell he was doing. I walked around for an hour before leaving through the back of the store with four packs of Kools and a beer under my jacket. Smirking slightly, I kicked the gravelly road beneath me and lit up another cigarette, casually flipping my hair around over my shoulder.

I walked the length of the road with my thumb in the air, occasionally stopping to take a swig of beer or an extra long drag on my smoke. It was almost 11:00 AM when a car finally stopped for me, and I opened the door with a smile. The guy in the driver's seat was a teenager, probably close to my age, with a tough look about him. His hair was so blonde it could've been called white, and his eyes were equally as cold. He grinned impishly at me and turned off the blasting music that had been coming from his car a second ago.

"You need a ride?" He asked, cocking and eyebrow.

"I aint sticking up my thumb for nothing!" I shot back, sliding into the seat next to him.

"I'm Dally" He said, putting his arm around me.

"Oh yeah? I'm Electra." I announced.

"That you're real name?" He asked.

"Is Dally _your_ real name?" I questioned in the same tone. This brought a wide grin to his face, and revved up the engine.

"You like Drag Races babe?" He yelled after cranking up the radio again.

"Almost as much as I like sex." I whispered in his ear, leaning up against his side.

He laughed out loud. "Then you and me are gonna get along just fine." He assured me, speeding down the road, a cloud of dust following his car.


	2. Chapter 2

**Outside the Box**

**Chapter 2**

**West Side**

**7:45 AM**

I was already running late when I opened my eyes on Monday Morning. I had cheerleading practice before school today, and I still had to take a shower. I groaned and got out of my four poster bed, cursing lightly at my alarm clock, which hadn't worked at all since I got it.

"Breakfast is ready!" My mom called from downstairs. I cleared my throat and started down the twisted staircase.

"I don't have time for breakfast this morning." I told her, brushing my hair furiously.

"But without breakfast you'll be too weak to practice cheering this morning." She insisted. I grabbed an apple off the table and ran back upstairs, sighing. With a quick glance at the hall clock, I decided that I would skip the shower and just spray on a little extra perfume for good measure.

Back in my room, I pulled on a light cotton skirt and a pink madras shirt, examining myself in the mirror. Not wonderful, but it was okay. There was no point denying that I was a pretty girl, I mean, I was a soc, and to be a soc, you had to look good. Now, I don't want to sound vain, because really I'm not. I don't want to be classified as a soc, but I really can't help it. I was born into a family with money, and I hung out with other soc's all my life, so I guess it was inevitable.

One thing about me that I guess would make me less of a soc than everyone else is that I don't enjoy having the upper hand in this town as much as I should. I mean sure, some greasers scare me, but there are a few nice ones too, I know. Like the Curtis brothers, they're dolls. I hate it when Soc's have to jump greasers for fun, or when we have beer blasts at the river bottom because we feel like it. It seems like everyone's just too cool to feel anything, and I hate it more than I can explain.

I like to daydream a lot, which is probably the cause of my tardiness. I mean, I used to have all the time in the world to just sit and think and watch sunsets, but now I don't. Now I'm lucky if I even have time to imagine a sunset between classes! Being real popular and all, you're expected to take on every activity under the sun, especially cheerleading, which is why I've got no time. I'm a member of the student council, the cheerleading squad, the newspaper team (I just take nice pictures) and the prom committee. I'm in all the AP classes too, and trying my best to keep my grades up.

The problem with Soc kids is either that their parents don't care at all, or they care too much. Mine cared too much. I was always lying about where I was going so they wouldn't worry about me, and I didn't feel too great about it, but I know they would never let me go to a drag race or a beer blast.

People are always saying how lucky we are, the rich kids. The West Side Socs. But what they don't realize is that things are rough all over. And I mean it. They don't see that when out parents let us do whatever we want without punishing us for anything, we can get out of hand and really hurt ourselves and other people. We're always expected to do the best that we can, and do what's right, so whenever one of us steps out of line, we get it really bad. I mean, I know how lucky we are in terms of money, being able to afford a lot of things that other people can't, but we're not all money.

"Sherri Valance!" My mother again. "I'm leaving right now whether you're coming or not!" I sighed.

"Be right there mom!" I yelled, hurrying downstairs.

Money, around here, is the worst form of segregation.


End file.
